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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/27759859">Songs of Solitude</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/Searofyr/pseuds/Searofyr'>Searofyr</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Series:</b></td><td>A Cyrodilic Prestige Project [2]</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Elder Scrolls, Elder Scrolls Online</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Elder Scrolls Online: Greymoor, Established Relationship, F/M, Poetry</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-11-28</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-11-28</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-10 21:53:30</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Teen And Up Audiences</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>No Archive Warnings Apply</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>39</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>13,501</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/27759859</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/Searofyr/pseuds/Searofyr</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>The journal of Nanacie Ancel, bard, Solitude 2E.</p><p>Originally from High Rock, vampire Nanacie is trying to fulfil her dream of a bard education at the Solitude Bard College, while her partner Fennorian helps with an investigation for House Ravenwatch. Due to circumstances (see “Consequences of a Nightcap”, set before this story), both of them have shifted their vampiric allegiance and are looking for a quieter existence.<br/>With the city cast into crisis and helped out by two former heroes of the Ebonheart Pact, they get pulled further into vampire politics than they’d like, and have to find their own place in a changing vampiric society. </p><p>Set during the events of ESO Greymoor.</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Fennorian (Elder Scrolls)/Original Female Character(s), Fennorian/Original Female Breton Character(s) (Elder Scrolls)</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Series:</b></td><td>A Cyrodilic Prestige Project [2]</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Series URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/series/2046341</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>2</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>7</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>1. Chapter 1</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>So, a journal?</p><p> </p><p>There are many reasons not to keep a journal.</p><p>For one, I don’t enjoy it.</p><p>‘But Nanacie,’ I can hear everyone who ever acted as if they meant well with me, ‘you love writing so much! Why don’t you keep a journal?’</p><p>It’s trite. It’s banal. It’s too direct. I enjoy epic stories, and yes, principles of the lives and emotions of mortals, but sublimated into larger themes, higher meaning, something to escape into, something to be inspired by. And what is the daily journal of a life such as mine? Drudgery best not remembered, rubbing one’s face in the meaninglessness of it all after the fact, suffering with no purpose nor growth.</p><p>I prefer to let my life be lived since it has to be, and if anything is learned, for better or worse, to transform it into art that might possibly be enjoyable to someone else, and to myself.</p><p>And there is nothing enjoyable about the arguments with my mother, my father abandoning us both, my meandering about vampirism vs its cures, the upset at dishes not done, unfriendly words by maestros or shop clerks, panic about unfinished assignments, and worst of all, the worry about Fennorian and the investigation he’s involved in. At least there’s help. But I can’t stand it, and so I’ve picked up some tasks I can do, too.</p><p>In any case, I’m trying to become a bard. I prefer to let my poetic work do the speaking for me.</p><p> </p><p>My friend Melima often complains that I never tell anyone anything. Perhaps this is an extension of that. But I’m trying to learn that, at least for very few people that I trust enough to try.</p><p>Fennorian, whom I love, and who had the patience to wait until I’m ready to talk about assorted things. For an investigator by calling, this is an impressive feat, and must mean his interest is genuine.</p><p>Melima, who eventually wore me down with her Colovian taste for truthfulness and not making a fuss about everything. (I admit I struggle with the concept.) And whom both Fennorian and I have to thank for our now much improved vampiric strain of the new Cyrodilic kind she started.</p><p>And just somewhat, her Daedric mate as it happens, and our now sole patron, Clavicus Vile, who has his difficult sides, of course, being a Daedric Prince, but enjoys showing generosity to his wife and her chosen people. He once said, in a flippant tone but unusual forthrightness perhaps learned from his wife, “It’s nice when someone’s just content once in a while. Can’t have it all the time, but just sometimes, you know? So you lot get the privilege.”</p><p> </p><p>A short time ago, on our visit in the south, I had the rare courage to mention that all the epics of Sovngarde were getting to me. I didn’t even know beforehand if I would get out the words.</p><p>Clavicus just rolled his eyes, paused a moment like he does when he’s thinking, and then said in a measuredly casual tone, “That guy owes me anyway. And I know he’s planning some long game about the Shivering Isles, but that’s all I know, and I’ll keep nice and quiet about it, except to you three now, but eh, you’re extended family like you mortals say. And last time we spoke, Sotha Sil dropped some hints about the future of my realm that I didn’t like at all, but can’t completely ignore. So. I was thinking of using the opportunity for some kind of deal anyway. If there’s any collaboration coming out of this, I’ll let you know. Don’t count it out. Just got to do this right. If there’s one party that’s even more of a nightmare to make deals with than Sotha Sil, it’s Lorkhan.”</p><p>“How about you?” I asked.</p><p>He placed a finger on his lips.</p><p>I smiled and didn’t proceed to ask if that meant that he was nicer or worse. Perhaps it depends on who you are. In fact, I’m rather certain of that.</p><p>“In any case,” he said, “don’t you two throw away your gift cause you want to see Sovngarde. We’ve got options. Just need to figure out what they are exactly.”</p><p> </p><p>Look at me getting carried away writing, now that I’ve started. And it’s got no form or reason. This is the hazard.</p><p>But all of the above sketches out the second reason not to keep a journal: Everything that truly means anything is confidential. And so it needs the utmost caution once written down.</p><p>Still. Perhaps I will, for now. I might need it.</p><p> </p><p> </p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0002"><h2>2. The Ballad of Zinedine the Death Hound</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>There was a hound in Solitude, true as a hound could be</p><p>A faithful guard of house and yard, and of his family.</p><p>But tragedy befell the home in one cold bitter night:</p><p>Beset upon by witches foul, they lost their final fight.</p><p> </p><p>But witches know no honour that normal folk defend,</p><p>And so with our brave hound’s death the story does not end.</p><p>With necromantic rituals they brought him to un-life</p><p>Forced him their coven to defend against all rightful strife.</p><p> </p><p>If man nor mer resists their spells, what is a hound to do?</p><p>And so he spent his joyless days as guard of the taboo.</p><p>When others rested from vile deeds, he howled up at the sky,</p><p>For honour or deliverance, and Shor followed his cry.</p><p> </p><p>A lady and a gentleman on their way home were caught</p><p>And thrown into a dusty cell, with all they tried for naught.</p><p>As time went on, their hunger grew, for they were folk of night,</p><p>But in their hour of despair, our death hound saw their plight.</p><p> </p><p>Remembering his happier days, a family to protect,</p><p>He came up to their cell and sought a way out to detect.</p><p>They taught him first to fetch their flasks with substitute for blood;</p><p>The miracle of alchemy took hold much like a flood.</p><p> </p><p>With spirits now returned, they asked the hound to bring the key,</p><p>And as he broke the witches’ spell, he set the couple free.</p><p>They were no fighters, still they fought, with spells and sword and hound.</p><p>The lady set illusions into which the hags were bound.</p><p> </p><p>The gentleman knew how to stun and cause their life to fade,</p><p>And once so stunned, many a witch’s head rolled from a blade.</p><p>But fiercest yet, the death hound fought, with claws and teeth made sharp</p><p>By spells that once the witches wove, now cut with their own barb.</p><p> </p><p>He mauled and tore in vengeance for a life forever lost,</p><p>And vengeance sated, he tore down their storm-summoning post.</p><p>He used what they had taught him to undo their every spell,</p><p>Unleashed what they had made him – and so their coven fell.</p><p> </p><p>The grateful couple offered him a home, a name, a task,</p><p>So Zinedine the death hound followed, in hearth’s warmth to bask.</p><p>Rewarded for his bravery, his thirst for blood subdued,</p><p>Once more he guards a family and home in Solitude.</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0003"><h2>3. Chapter 3</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>That ballad needs a layer of censorship; it can’t go out like this.</p><p>Either I have to cut out the vampirism part, if I want Fennorian and myself to be recognisable and tell a tale that at least somewhat happened.</p><p><em>Or</em> I have to change the death hound’s name, so as not to identify us, and I have to claim that the vampire couple is an invention making use of the current fashion of rumours about vampires, and a theme of three redeemed creatures instead of just the hound.</p><p> </p><p>Speaking of hounds. I hear growling and the cabinet being attacked. I think Zinedine has decided that I’ve been writing for long enough and should feed him instead.</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0004"><h2>4. Chapter 4</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Vampiric bias aside, I can see now why so many people are so thoroughly unimpressed with Meridia.</p><p> </p><p>The good thing, when you’re a vampire that needs to remain undetected and is asked to go into a defiled temple of Meridia, is that Meridia will not mind your presence as she has long utterly abandoned the temple. One or two vampires more are nothing to her since she has already washed her hands of it all, including her followers in distress.</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0005"><h2>5. Chapter 5</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Our recent acquaintance Lyris mentioned, regarding the Nord mistrust of magic, that it may be due to not enough skalds singing of wizards going to Sovngarde. Well, I know what one of my next subjects must be, and several times over if need be. The halls of Nordic heroes of song and poetry need expanding and diversification anyway.</p><p>For example, Fennorian and I happen to have two Telvanni wizards for friends, who are bound to end up in Sovngarde one day due to allegiance, and who brew our blood replacement potion (recently without Daedra heart component even because one of them avoids meat and found a good substitute).</p><p>… Perhaps a bit much for the beginning? Let’s ease them into the concept a bit more slowly. Let’s go with a stout and honourable Nord spellsword defending farmsteads. And perhaps the farmer’s daughter? Yes. The equally stout and honourable Ingrid with her long fair braids. Rollo and Ingrid, how is that?</p><p> </p><p>I asked Fennorian, and he looked up from his work and smiled at me (though I can see the fatigue in his smile) and said he’d read it if I wrote it.</p><p>Then he said his research isn’t coming ahead, and we’ll need help from the clever woman after all.</p><p>I told him, good, then he can put the work down for the night and come have dinner. For once he didn’t argue. This must be more exhausting than usual.</p><p> </p><p> </p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0006"><h2>6. Chapter 6</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>I just came back from the Bards College. If I want to take time out to accompany Fennorian to Morthal, I will have to hand in a poem assignment in advance. So this will be it.</p><p> </p><p> </p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0007"><h2>7. Rollo the Frightless, Firebringer in Winter</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Frozen fields, awaiting the farmers’ toil</p><p>Scarcity the sovereign under the snowfall</p><p>In direst hunger, the farmer’s daughter ventures out, and so in the dawn-thicket</p><p>forages fair Ingrid for frostberries.</p><p>Oh hunger, that honed blade of caution’s henchman!</p><p>That last stumbling-block of steadfastness leaves no one standing.</p><p> </p><p>Braving frost’s bitter-sting with a battle-heart</p><p>wanders another, wager of elements, wizard of flames</p><p>Rollo the Frightless (but for his fear of being forgotten)</p><p>scorned in his home, overlooked by the skalds, driven through the winter-wood’s skeleton</p><p>when his eyes spot fair Ingrid, apparition in the snow</p><p>and behind her a frost-troll! Fire in his heart and then his fingertips</p><p>slays the snow-giant under the sun’s first light.</p><p> </p><p>As the troll lies dead, Ingrid, no longer held captive by fear’s lure-trap,</p><p>runs up to brave Rollo, her round face alight with wonder</p><p>her thanks shier than a shivering hare, she bids his soul to Shor’s halls</p><p>as Rollo bids her into Mara’s ring, for his roaming’s end</p><p>for she lights his sorrow. So may the skalds forget his deeds; Sovngarde remembers.</p><p> </p><p> </p><p> </p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0008"><h2>8. To be less Breton</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>The good maestro accepted my poem but said my work was “still too Breton”. And that this wasn’t a heroic epic but a pastoral romance. But that he can see that I’m trying, and he can see the improvements, and I should keep it up, and they’d make a proper skald of me yet.</p><p>Ugh.</p><p>I know it was rushed and I was distracted, and perhaps this was even a Nord’s idea of being encouraging to an outsider, and in any case my priority is on getting these days off, and so I had to swallow my anger.</p><p>But now I’m still angry all the same.</p><p>When this situation here is all done, I will have to dig through more of their epics, and I will write them the Nordest of Nord epics imaginable, with gushing blood flowing like the mead, and tragic death, and whatever else needs to be in there. Just you wait, Maestro.</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0009"><h2>9. Fleeting treasures unearthed in the swamp</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Our excursion to the bog near Morthal was rather successful, at first.</p><p>The clever woman, called Old Mjolen, was of great help in Fennorian’s alchemical research, and indeed wise and witty in conversation.</p><p> </p><p>Furthermore, while nobody who knows me would accuse me of being overly fond of stays in nature, much less a swamp, if it’s with Fennorian, it all takes on a different character, and I quite enjoy it. I told him so one morning, in case it was not apparent, and also suggested that next time he ventures out for nocturnal ingredient-gathering, I might come along. His eyes lit up in a smile, and he had the grace to raise his eyebrows only a little, but we both know he understood my meaning, and he accepted the offer.</p><p>The smile didn’t leave him for a quite a while afterwards.</p><p> </p><p>But all good things must be interrupted by nonsense eventually, or in this case by our valued associate Riacil, representative of Lorkhan, who helps us with the fighting side of this whole matter, now bearing the news that the Queen had been assassinated, likely by a vampire, and the assassin had to be found.</p><p>With Old Mjolen’s help, we found traces and new clues at least.</p><p>Now the combat-oriented part of our group will continue the investigation, and we will return to Solitude for the time being.</p><p> </p><p>Having spent some time at the Bard College now, I have an idea of what the immediate future will hold.</p><p>Elegies.</p><p> </p><p> </p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0010"><h2>10. Chapter 10</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Sometimes I hate being right.</p><p> </p><p>It comes with the territory of being a pessimist.</p><p> </p><p>In my prediction of a phase of elegies, not only was I right. As it turns out, the palace is very <em>particular</em> about the elegies that are to be published.</p><p>It isn’t made clear whether the demands come from the High King himself or whether he shuts himself in in his grief and lets an overeager bureaucrat deal with it.</p><p>The fact of the matter is that the palace not only wants a whole volume of elegies to be created. They also keep sending back all the attempts we make with criticism.</p><p>And so, all of us at the College, regardless of rank, have been put to the business of elegy-writing according to the palace’s peculiar standards with no time off until we have a complete volume of text that the palace takes off our tired, ink-stained hands.</p><p> </p><p>And oh, the standards.</p><p>There are the usual rules that go into the mourning of a beloved queen (or really any queen, beloved or no, as she turns into a beloved queen at the latest in the moment of her death).</p><p>Then there are the specific rules we are getting bit by bit in response to our attempts.</p><p> </p><p>We are not to feed into “superstitions” about Reach witches or vampires too much. Although a bit of feeding into superstition is acceptable in order to rouse the common folk. But under no circumstance may Reachmen, witches and/or vampires be specifically named.</p><p>These are not to be “passive” poems, nor “too whiny”.</p><p>I recognise that some common elegies are a bit much in that direction and may sound insincere, and yet… His wife was murdered. Isn’t that a time to be “whiny”?</p><p>All in all, the palace prefers a more… martial tone for this work, which is at least <em>uncommon</em> for the subject matter.</p><p>But none of this is our decision, and I would eventually like a day off again. So I’ll do what I can.</p><p>How cynical do I get? Let me attempt with “quite”, and see how successful it is. Perhaps this next one won’t be sent back?</p><p> </p><p> </p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0011"><h2>11. Chapter 11</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>I was correct. They took it.</p><p>Winning me the respect of some bards at the college, and losing me some of my own in turn.</p><p>The downside to this development is that we now have to write many more of the same.</p><p>As this journal is confidential, I will take the opportunity to say that the Queen is lucky not to have to witness this crime against art committed in her name.</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0012"><h2>12. An Elegy to our Queen, a Call to her People</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>The light of wisdom of our land</p><p>Extinguished by a shade</p><p>The warmth torn from her family’s hearts</p><p>Her people’s faith betrayed</p><p> </p><p>Betrayed the trust in solid walls</p><p>Betrayed the trust in reason</p><p>Betrayed are we who mourn her now</p><p>Avenged will be this treason</p><p> </p><p>So let us mourn her sacrifice</p><p>And o’er her ashes grieve</p><p>But let her pyre not burn in vain,</p><p>Nor of pride us bereave</p><p> </p><p>Let pyre’s flames turn our will</p><p>To steel and not to cinders</p><p>A steel that cuts down anyone</p><p>That on our path us hinders</p><p> </p><p>Rise up now, Skyrim’s children</p><p>Both born and taken in</p><p>For what your queen has died for –</p><p>These plots will never win</p><p> </p><p> </p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0013"><h2>13. Contracts, as befits our kind</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>We keep up the habits of mortals so as not to arouse suspicion and so as not to lose those habits, as per Melima’s warning, which in turn comes straight from the source, so to speak.</p><p>This includes regular meals of the normal kind, and the occasional evening with wine, or here, mead.</p><p>Wine it was last night.</p><p> </p><p>I took the habit’s imitation a bit too far and started griping about life and these endless elegy assignments, saying I’d rather do something worthwhile and help Fennorian where I could.</p><p>He expressly forbade me and said I was finally fulfilling my dream.</p><p>I said, “I’m a propaganda scribe.”</p><p>He smiled. “Perhaps so. But while you’re writing your propaganda, I can be assured you’re home safe, and that helps me with my work, too, when I have to go back out. I can’t have any harm come to you.”</p><p>That was rather touching and put my artistic dilemma in a perspective that made it bearable. “A valid argument,” I said, and paused. Say the next thing or not? Often I don’t. But in the mood I was in, I threw that to the wind. “But it’s an argument that would be more valid towards a wife.”</p><p>His eyes widened and lit up, and he took my hands before I quite knew what was happening. “Are you implying… I didn’t dare ask. With all the complications, and there is much to think about…”</p><p>I felt dizzy, and wanted to take this as progress, feel hope, happiness, but meanwhile, the fear of a let-down crept in. What would Melima do, I asked myself before I could shut everything out. Melima would talk. I forced myself to push on and talk.</p><p>“I’d thought,” I started, and best to get the old nagging things out of the way, “sometimes at least, I’d thought, since you’re an Altmer, and a noble, and I’m not good enough for either of these things…”</p><p>Realisation clouded his features, and his hands wandered up onto my shoulders. “Nanacie. Listen to me. For one, you’re the woman I want, and you know that. As for your concerns… I’m a vampire.” He gave me a wry little smile. “That puts me <em>completely</em> outside of Altmer society. Even if I was to get cured again, there is no undoing the damage.”</p><p>“Couldn’t you, though? People try that in other cases.”</p><p>“What, put the sphere back together, return to the fold?”</p><p>“Why not?”</p><p>“Even if I ever considered it, as highly unlikely as it is: only with you as my wife.”</p><p>My heart stopped, and he smiled and added, “I don’t make decisions without you anymore. Don’t you know?”</p><p>I felt foolish and relieved at the same time, because the mere fact of the foolishness of a worry does nothing to diminish it until it is properly dispelled. I flung my arms around him and let him hold me in silence, until he continued.</p><p>“The second part,” he said, still holding me, “the nobility, well, you know I wasn’t born noble, House Ravenwatch merely adopts its members based on its principles. So you already know I wouldn’t have such concerns even at the back of my mind, don’t you?”</p><p>“I do know that,” I said in a small voice and felt more foolish.</p><p>He gently ran his fingers through my hair. “But of course, House Ravenwatch is an issue, and I’ve been thinking about it for a long time. I’m in, your mother has joined by our groups merging, as well as formally. Meanwhile you believe in the same principles, but you – quite understandably – have had enough of our vampire politics after all that happened in Rivenspire. And all that you’ve had to deal with in your life. I know that.”</p><p>“We’ve both had difficult lives, haven’t we?”</p><p>“So we have,” Fennorian said, and his hand rested still against me. “And I want to make yours easier. I don’t want to involve you in this anymore. So the question is, what do we do once this is over? On the one hand, somewhat ironically, for all its trappings of a Breton noble house, I don’t think inclusion of new members by marriage was ever a consideration. I’m not even sure if our good Count has ever given it any thought. In a regular house, of course the wife of a member would not be expected to follow her husband’s profession, with a few exceptions. We could bring it up. Should we want to.”</p><p>“It is an option,” I said.</p><p>“It is. And we both have our familial attachments. On the other hand, while House Ravenwatch is not in itself ruled by Molag Bal, the majority of its members are. And you and I now follow a different master and different rules. Being forced into Molag Bal’s decisions one day, no matter how well-intentioned the house, could be an issue. And more importantly…”</p><p>“The secrecy?” I guessed. “They have been getting rather overt about it all lately. Not surprising, in this situation, but I’m not sure I like it.”</p><p>“Precisely that,” he said. He paused, and in the pause resumed petting my hair as if remembering something important. I snuggled closer to him, and he sighed, not saying anything for a while.</p><p>Then he took a deep breath. “I will have a lot to think about. Not alone, of course. This would all be with you. But are you willing to go through all that… searching with me? Build up a life together, however it may look in the end?”</p><p>Now I could smile at last. “Yes, of course. If I didn’t, I wouldn’t have talked to you that day in the castle.”</p><p>He laughed. “That is how you think, isn’t it? I should have remembered earlier. Instead, I’m afraid I made you worry. Will you forgive me for that?”</p><p>I withdrew to straighten up and look him in the eyes, and I started saying, “There is nothing to forgive; you…” Continuing became difficult as I looked at him. I made it to a rushed “You’re wonderful” that instantly mortified me, and then I kissed him instead to forget the mortification.</p><p>He pulled me close again, and there was almost a sense of peace then.</p><p>He laid his hand against my cheek and looked at me. “Then, I’ll ask you now, although it’s a little informal. When this is done, or, well, if or when we’ve decided there is nothing more for us to do and we should remove ourselves – because these cases happen a lot, although nobody likes to admit it out loud – in any case…” He exhaled. “Will you marry me then? And we’ll worry about the details later?”</p><p>I nodded hastily before I was able to speak. Added the spoken “yes”, just to make sure.</p><p> </p><p>Later, he told me, “I will have to go out again on investigations soon, possibly several. But now that we’ve got our contract,” he smiled, “can I ask you <em>now</em> to stay safe in the city and write your elegies?”</p><p>I had to smile back at him. “You can now, yes. To a betrothed, that’s acceptable.”</p><p>“Good. I cannot lose you, Nanacie. Not ever.”</p><p>I swallowed rising tears and held on to him. What had I even been worrying about all this time? But there were real worries, ones that weren’t phantoms. “But I can’t lose you either,” I said. “Never. I can’t, I really can’t.” And again, “I can’t.”</p><p>He was quiet for a moment. “I understand. Thank you.”</p><p>“Good. Then promise me in return you’ll do whatever it takes to come back to me, no matter what. Not just now but always.”</p><p>“I promise. If you’re that serious, I promise. I have a responsibility now, don’t I?”</p><p>“You do. And of course I’m that serious, I was always that serious, what do you think… Well, you know, don’t you?”</p><p>He smiled. “I know. And I promise. But with any luck, it won’t be as serious as that.”</p><p> </p><p>And so we have trapped each other in a contract, and I have trapped myself into writing more terrible elegies. I’d like to think our patron will be proud of us.</p><p> </p>
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<a name="section0014"><h2>14. Speaking of our patron.</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>He came to visit. And he <em>is</em> proud of us. “Say the word,” he said, “and I’ll give you my blessing. If you care about that.”</p><p>We said we did, and he looked pleased at that.</p><p>“You’ll also need one of those normal temple ceremonies to blend in. I get it, just go ahead with it, appearances are everything, and I’ll look the other way. Can’t say I’m not practical. Now as for why I’m here… Do you have ale?”</p><p>With an amused expression, Fennorian went to fetch us all some ale, and I got out the good stone cups.</p><p> </p><p>Once we were seated by the fire with a drink that was superfluous to all three of us, I asked if Melima was in town, as well.</p><p>“Oh no, oh no,” said Clavicus, “not this time. She’s back with the Telvanni under protection. I don’t want her <em>anywhere</em> near this mess here. You being here can’t be helped. No, I’m here on different business. Thanks to the presence of your Bosmer associate, Riacil, the one that’s been doing the heavy lifting in your case.”</p><p>Fennorian said, “I admit I’m surprised. Isn’t he Lorkhan’s representative?”</p><p>Clavicus laughed. “Representative? If that’s what they’re calling it now.”</p><p>I snorted. “So…”</p><p>“What Melima is to me,” he said. “Except also different because he <em>also</em> functions as a sort of power source for a god that overdid it and is still trying to recover. And yeah, representative. But that aspect’s the most boring.”</p><p>Some things cease to surprise you after a while of dealing with these matters. “He didn’t mention that,” I said, “but a few allusions make sense now.”</p><p>“I bet. So, as you can guess, if Lorkhan’s tired – which he usually is, being just barely reawakened – and you want to talk to him, your best bet is to go via Riacil. So I did. I mentioned a certain topic last time, right? And then on the way home, you two get cast into a cell, very subtle, really. I hate people that are worse opportunists than me. So I figured this was either a sign to me to open negotiations or a declaration of war. Here’s something just between us: I really don’t feel like waging war against that guy, not even when he’s just a little more alive than dead. And,” he looked at me, “since certain ones of my followers are the skittish type and serial deserters when they lose faith, I figured I’d sort this out sooner rather than later.”</p><p>He stopped talking and drank some ale instead.</p><p>Fennorian said, “You’re a different case. We both intend to stay loyal to you. One can hear from the way she talks about the future, too.”</p><p>Clavicus set down his ale on the table. “I know. And it’s nice for a change. Doesn’t often happen with my vampires. Most of them drift towards Bal for the power. Or cause he’s predictable. You two are the first ones to desert from Bal to me. And even outright ditched him, not a shift of focus. In all these years, imagine. And I remember that sort of thing.”</p><p>“You’re very welcome,” I said. “And Fennorian’s right, too. I know what I’m like… But I do mean it here.”</p><p>Clavicus shot me a grin. “I know. I know my people, after all. So. Since arrangements were in order anyway, I intended to make arrangements about you two, as well. Got more than I bargained for. Doesn’t often happen either. Got more information out of him, too, on that cryptic warning from Sotha Sil. Seems that was genuine, not out of a grudge or anything. He simply knows too much. Anyway. Enough of that. Different deal. But two of them, not exactly allies, though not enemies either, with the same warning, I hate to say it but you listen. Oh, and Barbas kept making a fuss about me not being an idiot about this and actually listening. Hate when he’s right. But I think this time he is.”</p><p>Fennorian and I did our best to follow and to piece together the meaning behind his words.</p><p>“So anyway, all that put together…” Clavicus leaned back in his chair. “Lorkhan put the most ridiculous offer on the table, and only under the condition that this reaches no one except the obvious – Riacil and Melima, cause good luck to us keeping secrets from them – and you two, as affected and interested parties. And so since I’m telling <em>you</em>, <em>you’re </em>now bound to secrecy.”</p><p>We agreed because we had to.</p><p>And for that reason, I won’t write the content of the deal even in here. It certainly is bold, that much I will say.</p><p> </p><p>“And so,” Clavicus concluded, “I did the only possible thing to do with an offer for an absolutely ludicrous bargain. I accepted. It’s under effect as of sunrise today. And still under absolute secrecy. For a long time; who knows how long he takes with whatever else he’s got planned?”</p><p>We just took this in, rather dumbfounded.</p><p>“And now for what changes for you specifically,” our patron said. “On the surface, not so much.” He pointed at me. “For you, as a future skald legend of Skyrim? A bit. For both of you? To put it into very simple terms first, I’ll be holding on to your allegiance, which again, I appreciate, but now you also have… Another protector. Of sorts. And open borders, to put it in mortal terms. Whether that’s a good thing or a bad thing is up to you. Not that your opinion changes anything much. Well, I keep saying that, but fundamentally, that’s not true for either of us. So try to be happy. Questions? Details?”</p><p> </p><p>I note this down for its importance, even though the main content is missing. I will even keep most of my more detailed thoughts to myself. Just this: I don’t have to try to be happy. I simply needed permission to be happy. And earlier, I fussed about Fennorian going along with me so much in these matters, but he shook his head and said that this was welcome. And I see more relaxation in his posture, as if the future has become less of an obstacle, and so this must be good.</p>
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<a name="section0015"><h2>15. A loyal hound, an astute critic</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Zinedine has shredded one of the elegies I was working on.</p><p>I cannot blame him.</p><p>Unfortunately, I still remember most of what I wrote and can reproduce it.</p><p>But at the same time, I can’t. I can’t. I can’t write a single more of these. This is destroying my soul. The only solace I have is that the collected work will also destroy the souls of all those who ordered it and will have to look inside for propriety’s sake.</p><p>They have practically cursed themselves with this book.</p>
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<a name="section0016"><h2>16. I can’t do this anymore</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>If one day held the last of writing elegies</p><p>The last of royal mandate’s mourning-pose</p><p>I would embrace this day like a lost brother dear</p><p>Dear murderer of all my present woes</p><p> </p><p>To write the elegy to writing elegies</p><p>The guiding star on which my sail to set</p><p>And if I drown in sorrows or drown them all in mead</p><p>If elegies drown, too, I won’t regret</p><p> </p><p> </p><p>Alright, back to work. These elegies don’t write themselves, as much as I may feel as if my spirit has gone missing while I’m writing them.</p><p> </p><p> </p><p> </p>
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<a name="section0017"><h2>17. Today brought some diversion.</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>For some reason, some people have heard the rumours that I was a priestess of Arkay in Rivenspire and can cure vampirism. And so I had a lady afflicted by the illness at my door today begging me to help her.</p><p>I told her I’m not sure I can help her, and to come back later today with certain ingredients, which we will either use or take to a proper temple.</p><p>I need to think, and I will try sorting my thoughts in writing for once.</p><p> </p><p>It’s complicated, and I couldn’t tell her why.</p><p>Here is why.</p><p>I followed Arkay in my youth (and subsequent mortal life), until I was at death’s door and my mother had the splendid idea to cure one disease with another, the other being vampirism.</p><p>I never actually turned to Molag Bal, as I hadn’t asked for that, and instead stubbornly continued to follow Arkay and went as far as to speak of it openly, disguising it as a disguise, if you will. With some distance, I now see that a good part of that was rebellion when I did not have the courage to dissent in action. And shrewd leaders will let barking dogs continue to bark as long as they don’t bite.</p><p>Then came the day I couldn’t take it anymore, and the next day I bit, by covertly seeking not only a cure but Arkay’s forgiveness and an induction into his priesthood. With the practical reality of Rivenspire at that point, the temple was open even to people such as myself, as long as it meant much-needed recruits.</p><p>Meanwhile, still lacking courage, I hid the fact and pretended I was still a vampire. It was a relief to be found out by Melima at last.</p><p> </p><p>I did hastily cure a vampire in an emergency situation, that vampire being Fennorian.</p><p>And then, because in the end neither of us could face mortality after all, and the brief harsh rest of each of our lives that we would gain, we threw it all away and had Melima turn us to her new Cyrodilic strain, making us second generation vampires solely under Clavicus Vile. And it’s good. We can live with this.</p><p>To Fennorian, the improvement to his previous condition is significant. To myself, it’s still more significant than one might guess. I went from being a second-generation vampire under one master to a second-generation vampire under another, and it could not be more different. I was right in my early assumption when I met Melima that the Prince’s intentions in creating the strain are essential in this.</p><p>With this choice, we have given up all of the power that Molag Bal’s vampires hold or can achieve with time. In return, we gained reduced hunger, the ability to live off less if need be, the ability to blend in, and relative freedom. We also gained the <em>obligation</em> to blend in. Clavicus Vile’s house rules, always.</p><p>The freedom encompasses freedom of worship. He gave that to Melima, who was never intended to be his follower anyway, and extended it to us. Fennorian had grudgingly and without any true conviction accepted Molag Bal before, out of practical necessity, but was glad to be rid of him. I had been very stubborn about Arkay, and had won his forgiveness once. I suppose giving us freedom was the practical thing to do in the situation.</p><p>Besides, for all one can say about Clavicus, he thrives on people making choices and trying to get what they want. How successful that is, and what the outcome is, when he gets involved, is a different matter. But without choice and mortals’ free will, there would be no basis to his existence, and according to Melima, he’s very much aware of that. (Sometimes Barbas reminds him, and then he passes it off as his own thought, which in a way I suppose it is.)</p><p> </p><p>So in theory, according to Clavicus, I was allowed to continue worshipping Arkay, as long as I followed Clavicus’s rules and accepted him in… I suppose a mentor or superior kind of position.</p><p>But I didn’t use that permission.</p><p>Gaining forgiveness once, for something that you didn’t choose in the first place and only went along with for too long out of a false sense of obligation and also fear, that is one thing. And from all I heard about other vampires, most notably Lamae Bal, it is not an outcome one can take for granted either.</p><p>Throwing that away to become a vampire <em>again</em>, just a more convenient kind for oneself, under a different master, that is another.</p><p>And then when I did look at another god’s spheres and realms and included him in my ballads and such, despite all loyalty to Clavicus otherwise, it wasn’t Arkay. And the recent arrangement (that I may only be able to write about in detail in a thousand years or so) is not with Arkay either.</p><p>Furthermore, I don’t even regret. I have no intention of running again.</p><p>And so I can only assume that Arkay is by now thoroughly fed up with me.</p><p>If I try to help that woman, who knows what will happen? “Nothing” might even be the lucky outcome.</p><p>And yet she came to me and seemed afraid of going to the temple. Simply out of fear of judgment? Well, her secrets aren’t mine to dig up. As a secretive person myself, I know better. But perhaps I should try despite the risk. Because I also know what the curse feels like.</p><p> </p><p>When she comes back, I’ll simply ask her. I’ll tell her – obviously not the truth, but some half-baked yarn about having had friendly dealings with vampires in Rivenspire, oh yes, terrible what happened there, it’s a different region, things are complicated, one ends up with the most unlikely allies simply to alleviate some of the worst, but it might affect my ability now to invoke a cure… Something like that. And she can decide for herself.</p><p>Free will and all that.</p>
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<a name="section0018"><h2>18. Chapter 18</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>I don’t understand anything anymore.</p><p> </p><p>It… worked?</p><p>She came back with the ingredients, and I told her my vague reasoning, and she opted for having me cure her.</p><p>The ingredients were only a way to gain time anyway; with Fennorian I was able to do it without. But also as a crutch, just in case. Because the situation is not the same anymore. <em>I</em> am not the same anymore.</p><p>I prefaced the invocation with the most awkward prayer, putting in that I didn’t know why she sought me out, but just in case she had her reasons, to help her since she wants to get cured, and to do it not for me but for her, and that sort of thing.</p><p>And it worked. She’s cured.</p><p>I still don’t know if this was a one-time miracle, an exception out of circumstance, or if I still have the ability in general. I have to say I’m baffled. I did not expect this at all. Or perhaps a bit; I did offer after all, and didn’t send her on straight to the temple.</p><p>But still.</p><p>Why?</p><p>(But thank you. And for what it’s worth, I’m sorry I’m like this.)</p><p> </p><p> </p>
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<a name="section0019"><h2>19. Chapter 19</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Riacil tells me this is a time to pray.</p><p> </p><p>He has shown off his divine connection at last and appeared here from their expedition in Blackreach to warn me and gather things he needs in a hurry. He’s rummaging through the house as I write/attempt prayer. Fennorian has been abducted and is likely alive, but they suspect for interrogation, meaning torture in practice.</p><p>So, to pray. And fend off the dizziness and paralysis because they lead nowhere.</p><p> </p><p>When people warn you about hardships and you’ve gone through hardships before, you don’t take them seriously. Yes, yes, life is hard and unfair. You don’t get everything handed to you. In fact, you don’t get much at all. Most of your life will be at best unenjoyable and at worst dismal. Please take me seriously and don’t talk to me as if to a small child.</p><p>That’s what you think.</p><p>Then you find out that they were right to talk to you as if to a small child because you have known nothing before.</p><p> </p><p>These witches and their accomplices will go down. And the more of a hand I will have in it the better. I have taken out people before, for the principle or the practicality of it, but not like this. Our old order’s business in Rivenspire was child’s play.</p><p>I will need help. I know I have help. I have Riacil and Lyris, everyone else on location is useless, but I need more help.</p><p>I will not desert for power, despite all. I won’t; that is not me. So Clavicus. And if I may: Lorkhan, too. I need your help. Show me that I’m right in persisting. And don’t desert me either, for the thoughts now in my head, and the feelings and intentions that are threatening to overwhelm me. Melima was my ally in Rivenspire when it must have been difficult to be. Now you be the same.</p><p>Bring him back to me, in fact, help<em> me</em> bring him back, because I’m coming along.</p><p>And help me make them pay.</p><p> </p><p> </p><p> </p>
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<a name="section0020"><h2>20. More waiting</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Riacil asked, “I’m afraid I know the answer, but let me ask anyway. Do you know how to fight, or do you know any combat magic?”</p><p>“I can do formal beheadings, and I know some illusion magic,” I said. Best to be frank for once. This is too important.</p><p>He sighed. “Thought so.”</p><p>“They have Fennorian,” I added.</p><p>He looked me over for a moment. “I’ll help you get armed. Light stuff, enchantments. We’ve got this. Lyris is taking care of some preliminary complication right now. Stupid werewolves. Meanwhile I took the time to get some stuff, potions most of all, and fetch you.” Shot me an impish grin. “I mean of course, warn you. Nobody’s idea at all to take you along. Couldn’t help that.”</p><p>“Naturally,” I said.</p><p>He got us both armed and supplied. “Let’s go.”</p><p>And then he had an idea and went off again to fetch something else.</p><p>I’ll leave this book here. No need for it to fall into enemy hands. I may not come back.</p><p> </p><p> </p>
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<a name="section0021"><h2>21. Here we are.</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>We did it. It doesn’t matter how we did it, but we did it.</p><p>We’re home in Solitude, and Fennorian is next to me in bed under spells and furs, and sleeping.</p><p>Riacil used some spell to yell at his teacher Diesala on Artaeum to bring her Psijic healing magic or else. She joined us, didn’t need any convincing at all, and worked her spells. They worked well, too, but Fennorian is still under shock and very unwell.</p><p>The Psijic mage is currently setting herself up elsewhere in Solitude and planning a city defence. Apparently, she has some experience in that from the Three Banners War. She said something encouraging: “I like this city, so if I have to raise another bone colossus for it, I will. Though our Elders wouldn’t be so pleased.” I think I like her.</p><p>Something I know: The time of the Grey Host is over. The time of Rada al-Saran is over. They may not wish it, but they’ll see in time.</p><p>And their pet witches while we’re at it. They’re all done for.</p><p> </p><p> </p>
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<a name="section0022"><h2>22. Chapter 22</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>I know I’m not in a good state.</p><p> </p><p>Nothing to compare… But well.</p><p>Diesala has moved us and our ‘headquarters’ over to the house she acquired and set up with her unique connections. Said “You can keep it when we’re done here, if it still stands.”</p><p>She also took a close look at Fennorian and me both and said, with a less guarded expression than usual, “I know. I’ve been there – almost. Could have been too late, too, but wasn’t… But I was prepared for the case I was too late – I know what the state of mind is like. And what you’re prepared to do. Now that you’ve got him back, and you see what they’re like and we know what they’re planning, are you ready to protect a city from ruin?”</p><p>I’ve since heard some things about her background and exploits. I said, as a preamble, “I’m not a warrior.”</p><p>“I wanted to be a scholar,” she said. “My family wanted me to be a wife, first and foremost. But the war in Cyrodiil didn’t ask what we wanted, and then Molag Bal didn’t either.”</p><p>“He doesn’t tend to do that, does he,” I said.</p><p>She shook her head. “Good of you to lose him. So no impressive vampire powers, I suppose?”</p><p>“None, except for survival. But it’s still better.”</p><p>“Smart. So as a bard and a vampire <em>without</em> impressive powers, but with certain supernatural protection and with something you want done. Are you in if I teach you?”</p><p>“I’m in,” I said.</p><p> </p><p>Diesala looked at me again, cocked her head, tapped her fingertip against her lips in thought, then said, “There are two classic ways of responding to this kind of thing.” We both knew what ‘this kind of thing’ was. “Fire and ice. Which one are you?”</p><p>I knew, and yet I hesitated. Seemed the other one would have been more honourable. More respectable. More likeable. More worthy of ballads, even in this frozen land. Perhaps especially in this frozen land.</p><p>“You hesitate,” she said, “so it’ll be ice.”</p><p>“Got me. It’s ice.”</p><p>She got up and went to the bookshelf in her command central, which had once perhaps been a guest room or a library, and handed me a stack of parchment. “Sit with your man and read this. Some introductions. I’ll teach you more later. I was never any good at ice, much as my husband tried to teach me, but I can do Destruction just fine; just the image and sentiment have to come from you. In the meantime, I’ll take care of the College for you. You can go back when it’s still standing and they’re still alive and sapient.”</p><p>She said when, not if.</p><p>She looked down at the city maps in front of her and let out a frustrated noise. “If only Salyn hadn’t been called back to Clockwork City; we could really use him now. But no matter. We’ve got a bard now.”</p><p>I snorted, and she smiled. “Determined people who can use their heads are valuable.” Looked into my eyes. “In return, I’m not letting either of you fall.”</p><p>I took it all in and nodded. Thanked her. Eyed the materials I was to read. Turned to go.</p><p>“One more thing,” she said. “I heard from Riacil in what state you left that torturer. Or his corpse, rather. Good work. Better to be thorough with the ones that keep coming back, isn’t it?” Her eyes held a hard glint as she smiled. “We’ll get along.” Then her expression changed, and she turned away to yawn. In a softer voice, she added, “When you see Riacil, can you tell him to bring some kelp kaveh? It’s going to be a long day.”</p><p> </p><p> </p><p> </p>
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<a name="section0023"><h2>23. Past and future</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>When next he woke, I brought Fennorian more of our regular potion, and we talked.</p><p>About what had happened there, about what had happened here while he was out. About the new ‘headquarters’.</p><p>I got worried then what he’d think of what I had agreed to and how I’d turned, but he laid his hand on my cheek and said, “I’ve always known. And I love you. Don’t fret. I don’t see any false images in you that you have to keep up.”</p><p>I nearly wanted to cry, but couldn’t. Since this happened, I haven’t been able to cry. So I just thanked him and told him I loved him, too.</p><p>He smiled. “Remember, right after we met, and you and Melima made casual jokes about beheadings? Later that night, I asked you about it, and you told me you’d been a henchman’s apprentice back in Wayrest. And I remember how you turned it into an amusing anecdote. How you couldn’t find work and would eventually take any nonsense. And the silly city fashions of thought, of how they said women would be the more merciful executioners and so there should be more of them, and they eschewed the heavy axes and started making special light swords, before they thought of the guillotine. I remember how your nose wrinkled, in that bit of scorn, but with a smile. I knew then you had a streak of…” He kissed my fingers, never finishing his sentence. “And I was enchanted. Don’t worry now. How could I turn away from you? You’re all I want. And…” He paused.</p><p>I kissed him in response.</p><p>“Thank you,” he said at last, quietly. “All that for me. Thank you.”</p><p>“For you, everything.”</p><p>He took both my hands in his. “As soon as I’m patched up, I’ll join you in this work. We’ll stop what they’ve planned. And then, provided we both survive this, let’s get married. If you still want.”</p><p>“Of course I still want –“</p><p>He cut me off with a kiss and pulled me down to him. With a smile he closed his eyes and let himself sink into the pillow.</p><p>I stroked his hair out of his face. “There’s something I overheard when I came for you. Something they said, about you and more specifically about… House Ravenwatch. And its founder.”</p><p>He nodded against the pillow, eyes still closed. “I caught that, though barely. The implications are clear, aren’t they?”</p><p>“They are. I think. So the Grey Host.”</p><p>“Looks like it. I didn’t know.” He paused, looking exhausted again. “It doesn’t make a difference to me personally, but it will make a difference for what we decide to make of our life together. This might not be over even after we save Solitude. Assuming we manage.”</p><p>I laid against him, kissed his shoulder. “I agree. If anything, it sounded as if Verandis made the right call, and I don’t mind. I’ve made bad decisions in my life. And I understand if you don’t want to leave behind your father figure now.”</p><p>Fennorian’s hand reached over, searching and finding my hair to pet. “Assuming this isn’t over, have you thought about what’s more important to you? Going after the Grey Host for good, or the kind of civilian life we’ve talked about?”</p><p>“You,” I said immediately. “You’re the point. I don’t need vengeance for vengeance’s sake. Not even in the state I’m in. I want you and the civilian life. I just also want them wiped out, somehow. But you’re what matters.”</p><p>He smiled and lay closer against me, letting me hold him. “Then we’re in agreement. I’m glad. Until then, don’t worry about how I see you, and don’t hold back if you don’t want to. I chose you. I’d always choose you. And you know we’re not altogether dissimilar. Don’t you?”</p><p>“I know,” I said, “you do give the hints sometimes. And thank you. And I’d always choose you too, and…” I kissed his neck, heard and felt his sharp intake of breath, took it as an irresistible invitation to continue.</p><p>Any attempt at frost magic would have failed at that moment anyway.</p><p> </p><p> </p>
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<a name="section0024"><h2>24. Payment and plans</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>I understand that Svana was trying to make up for what happened, and the royal coffers are empty or her allowance spent. But a wolf in payment?</p><p>I turned to Fennorian at the offer. “I like wolves,” I said, “but this is primarily for you. Do <em>you</em> want a wolf?”</p><p>He looked as bemused as I felt. Then he said, “Well, I suppose we live in Solitude now.”</p><p>Svana placed her hands on her hips. “You don’t just ‘live in’ Solitude. After all you’ve done, you’re citizens. I don’t care that you’re outsiders. I’ll see to it if you want.”</p><p>I saw Fennorian’s smile and said, “Well, in that case, I think it’s a yes, and we’ll gladly take the wolf.”</p><p>I hope he gets along with our death hound.</p><p> </p><p>In any case, plans were set up, and ingredients are being gathered. Fennorian and I are staying in and researching, alchemy for him, beginner combat magic for me. And I’m continuing to take care of him, because you don’t just put something like that aside.</p><p> </p><p>A wolf.</p><p>Nords.</p><p> </p><p> </p>
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<a name="section0025"><h2>25. While we’re waiting</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Zinedine the death hound and Hirtjom the wolf are still engaged in political negotiations on cohabitation, hierarchy and territory, but appear to have accepted one another’s presence.</p><p>Diesala’s eccentric real estate gift didn’t come a moment too soon.</p><p> </p><p>On the more destructive side of things, I’m learning how to spear people with ice spikes coming from the ground, except of course it’s more than simple ice. I should have had that in the Lightless Hollow. I managed fine without, but that would have been the place to employ it.</p><p>Though I do have a sense I will need an alternative or two for engaging in honourable combat, too. This is not quite that.</p><p> </p><p>On the healing side, Riacil taught me a spell that actually our Telvanni friend Lothryn taught him, who in turn had learned it straight from the Hist, however that works. You don’t ask too many questions when House Telvanni is involved. A vine to summon that wraps around me or someone else in order to heal them.</p><p>This one has the advantage that I can actually practice on living subjects.</p><p>Most living subjects are getting a little tired of being healed by now.</p><p> </p><p>I also told Fennorian the anecdote of the vampire that wanted healing from me, and Arkay’s blessing actually working for some reason.</p><p>He looked at me, still for a moment, and then he cleared out the table and put an amulet on top. One of the cheap brass ones he keeps on masse for experiments. “Could you try that?”</p><p>I have not the first idea of how to create a warding amulet, but he told me to improvise, and he wanted to see what would happen.</p><p>So I improvised.</p><p>He ran some tests and detection spells over it, muttered “Astounding,” and put the next amulet on the table. This time he explained to me how it’s normally done in different magical schools.</p><p>This took a while.</p><p>Then we improvised some more. And combinations of techniques. We’re not yet sure, but we might be on to something.</p><p> </p>
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<a name="section0026"><h2>26. An attempt at a good deed</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>I was in the Blue Palace today to help set up some traps. The proper mages are all busy, and Princess Svana trusts me at least.</p><p>Since she’d been generous to us with the citizenship and the wolf, and is at least more cooperative than her father, I took her aside on a break, and told her about the volume of elegies and the palace’s demands and that I wasn’t entirely convinced of the resulting quality of the work.</p><p>“I didn’t know your mother,” I said, “and you have other things on your mind right now.” I didn’t add: So do I. “But when you have a moment, and if you care about having something in there to commemorate your mother that <em>isn’t</em> calls to arms and conspiracy theories about the East, talk to Maestro Julia Antonia and have her write a real one. One proper elegy. And insist to everyone you know that it makes it in unchanged. She admired your mother and has worked with her before.” I didn’t add: And she can write emotion without being sappy. You don’t say that to a grieving daughter.</p><p>“I had no idea about a poetry book,” said Svana, “but why would they tell me anything?” She let her shoulders hang. “They won’t listen to me. And now is not the time. But if I can’t cancel this project, I’ll talk to your maestro later. Thank you.”</p><p>“You’re welcome. It may just be poetry, but since it’s about your mother, I thought you might want to know.”</p><p>She nodded and mumbled, “I haven’t paid attention to a lot of things.”</p><p>Well, I’m not her governess and didn’t know what more to say, so I changed the topic back to the traps. But perhaps this will be a hint to her to start paying attention to the propaganda department in general, even if it’s just poetry, and in her father’s opinion poetry and government don’t mix well (cf. Eastern Skyrim; Jorunn).</p><p> </p>
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<a name="section0027"><h2>27. I can’t write.</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>I can’t even get a single word out. Any attempt at describing or expressing or creating anything floods my head with all these <em>thoughts</em>, and all these reasons why nothing can be written now, and any poetic word on anything would be wrong.</p><p>Only logical, and only appropriate.</p><p>It’s alright. I have other things to do anyway.</p>
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<a name="section0028"><h2>28. News from below the land</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Riacil came back from Blackreach and wanted to talk. Gathered us, sighed and let himself sink into his armchair.</p><p>Storytime.</p><p>“So I got lost in Blackreach and came across the most messed-up fortress.” He turned to Fennorian. “Ended up saving two sisters of yours. Well, Gwendis got out earlier, but Adusa got it badly. She’s out now and safe. Got to recover. I wanted you to know.”</p><p>I saw Fennorian tense up, and I sat close to him, took his hand. He squeezed it, almost painfully but not quite. I’ve never known a person with so much self-restraint, and I love it.</p><p>Riacil went on in his explanation. “Some vampiric monster, that came out wrong, not monster cause she was a vampire, but… I don’t want to tear open fresh wounds, but she would’ve gotten along with that Exarch Tzinghalis guy. I’m really sorry that happened. And she targeted them specifically cause, guess what, Verandis again. What is it with you guys’ blood that they all want?”</p><p>Fennorian took a few moments to compose himself, then he answered with a wry smile. “I don’t even have it anymore. Since I changed… allegiance. And Vampiric strain. Rada al-Saran knew who I had been before, but didn’t have the most recent information. And they ran all the tests they could to make sure. It’s gone. I’m something else now. I was a terrible disappointment to them. So, the only way they could still find a use for me was as an example, and a token of vengeance against Verandis.”</p><p>I held his hand in a tighter grip.</p><p>Riacil bit his lip and nodded. “Yeah. Well, your sisters are back with their group. That’s done. And that so-called fucking ‘Blood Queen’ is no more. Good riddance to that one. And I need a day and night of rest. That was more than I was prepared for. Tomorrow I’ve got to head out again to the next site.” Then he covered up his bare seriousness, straightened up on his chair and turned bright puppy eyes on Diesala. “You wouldn’t mind making that spicy honey stew of yours? I barely even care what you put in, but…”</p><p>Diesala nodded. “I assume you’re not in a meat kind of mood. I know I’m not after one of those places. I’ve seen enough of those in Coldharbour.”</p><p>“Thanks,” he said.</p><p>“Fish? Solitude fish is good and fresh, and you need some strength in you, I don’t care what Lothryn says.”</p><p>“Fish is good.”</p><p>Diesala got up, laid her hand on his head for a moment and then walked past us. Turned around to Fennorian and me. “Riacil comes first tonight, but just in case. Do you eat spicy?”</p><p>We both nodded, and I added, “We both like things that taste like something. A side effect of our strain.”</p><p>“Good to know,” Diesala said, “you’ll like that smoked brandy that Abnur discovered then. Remind me when you visit.”</p><p>And she was off to the basement. As if everything was already settled, and everything was in order. And perhaps to a Psijic mage it already is. There’s something comforting about the thought.</p><p> </p><p> </p>
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<a name="section0029"><h2>29. I thought I had a dream.</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>The air in our bedroom shimmered with serpentine scales. They emitted a ghostly whisper. “There’s always a price. You know that, don’t you?”</p><p>In my dream, I was wide awake at once.</p><p>The whisper went on, and its cadence reminded me of Riacil, but at the same time not. “And not because I or anyone of us wants there to be. Just because that’s how the world is. Everything causes a reaction, even secrets.”</p><p>I processed it as well as I could – the open borders policy? –, and stated, “The price won’t be Fennorian.”</p><p>“No. You have struggle ahead, that I can’t spare you, but he won’t be the price, nor you either, nor your love, nor – enough of the subclauses, I’ve been spending too much time setting up contracts with the most impossible people I know, except for the worst of all, cause that’s still much too early.”</p><p>“Alright,” I said, not knowing what the answer would mean down the line but in the perfect clarity of vision, and with the conviction that this was the right answer.</p><p>“Thanks. This helps. Oh by the way. He likes the spicy bitterlemon tea they make in Shimmerene, but he’s forgotten. Just a hint.”</p><p>In my dream, I smiled and thanked the serpent, reached out to pet his scales briefly.</p><p>That got me a laugh. Then he gave a pointed look at the bed.</p><p>Suddenly it occurred to me. “Am I taking up your energy? Sorry. Sorry. I’ll sleep. Try to anyway.”</p><p>I did as suggested, wrapped myself around the sleeping Fennorian next to me, solid and warm and beautiful, made sure to cover us both up, and closed my eyes. Another thought occurred to me. I hadn’t been sleeping at all, had I?</p><p>Ghostly laughter next to my ear, a tap to my head, and the simple word “Sleep.”</p><p>And then I slept.</p><p> </p><p> </p>
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<a name="section0030"><h2>30. Morning</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Fennorian was awake before dawn and woke me up, too, for company. I love when he does that. He brought potions and some other breakfast, and we talked about our strange ‘dreams’. And then in general about our standing in life, and what was to come, and where we wanted to go.</p><p>At last, he sat closer to me on the bed and said, “Lorkhan told me – well, something I already knew, to be honest. But he phrased it as a secret hint. That you need double and triple the reassurance of a regular person.”</p><p>I smiled, though embarrassed. “That might be true. But you’re already good at it.”</p><p>He leaned in, raised an eyebrow, spoke in a whisper, “Am I?”</p><p>Then he kissed me and shifted us both on the bed, and I’d had a thought to tell him that the secret hint I’d gotten about him was a tea preference, but that thought along with all other coherent thought fled my mind, not to be recovered for a long time.</p><p> </p>
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<a name="section0031"><h2>31. This is not a poem.</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p> </p><p>This is simply a note that Fennorian is beautiful.</p><p>And that I am glad that our strain of vampirism left us our heartbeat, because this way I can listen to his when I lay my head on his chest in the late morning sun.</p><p> </p><p> </p><p> </p>
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<a name="section0032"><h2>32. Shimmerene Spicy Bitterlemon Tea</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Diesala is a Psijic mage, and Riacil is her apprentice. They know a lot of Altmer. So I asked them if they knew Shimmerene spicy bitterlemon tea and a recipe for it, if it required any in particular.</p><p>Diesala groaned. “Does it ever. Sometimes they make it. I never have; it’s apparently a nightmare to brew. It’s one of the rare occasions you hear Valsirenn curse.”</p><p>Riacil added, “It’s an <em>Altmer</em> recipe. That says enough. It has to be <em>just right</em>. And Summerset people are worst about it. I wouldn’t be surprised if there was some specific <em>praxis</em> for bitterlemon tea.”</p><p>So it wasn’t as simple as all that. Nothing ever was, not even something as simple as a favourite tea for one’s beloved. Typical. “I got a hint that Fennorian likes it but has forgotten,” I explained. “So I’m afraid I’ll take up the arduous praxis of spicy bitterlemon tea.”</p><p>Diesala smiled. “Spoke to you, too, did he?”</p><p>“All of you,” Riacil confirmed and yawned as if on cue. “And now I’m tired. That stuff is more draining than you may think it is. So I’m taking another day off. The site can wait another day. Solitude won’t be saved if the saviour is dead from a skeever in the snow or something. Who knows, maybe Lyris has solved all the problems already, except for the alchemy.”</p><p> </p><p> </p>
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<a name="section0033"><h2>33. Chapter 33</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Lyris hadn’t solved all the problems already. Too bad.</p>
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<a name="section0034"><h2>34. A cooling down of spirits</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Fennorian and I went on a research expedition, following a lead to find out more about the alchemical composition of the warding amulets we found.</p><p>We ended up by a graveyard in the snowy north.</p><p>The cold air and the scent of snow and the sombre mood and the emptiness help calm me, and us, down from everything that’s happened. And Fennorian comments on how much better he can concentrate on his research than in a full house.</p><p>He’s smiling more often out here, too. And in turn, I think so am I.</p><p> </p><p>There’s something about the atmosphere that favours reason. And something else lurking beneath that favours life.</p><p> </p><p>A vampire couple, on an outing by a graveyard in the snow. When they sold those terrible novels in Rivenspire, I laughed at this kind of thing.</p><p> </p><p> </p><p> </p>
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<a name="section0035"><h2>35. It couldn’t last.</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>But we found what we were looking for and had to return to Solitude.</p><p>When we brought home the results and Fennorian explained about the use of necrotic energy, Diesala pricked her metaphorical cat’s ears, because that’s what she looked like, said “This I can work with,” and installed us all in her impromptu command/research central.</p><p>Riacil is off at the palace to report; Diesala said this work here was more important and she didn’t want to be interrupted.</p><p>For a while now, she and Fennorian have been puzzling on this project. I was sitting at the side, tried to write, but I still can’t.</p><p>Out of frustration, I instead started to get into my expanding repertoire of frost magic. Still nostalgic for our expedition, I made it snow in the room, with some healing properties.</p><p>Diesala looked up at me with a sly smile. “Want to learn and take some notes? Just in case? You don’t have to go <em>completely</em> this route, but knowledge is good, no?”</p><p>I agreed, and so she’s replaced her silence and her incomprehensible mumbling with explanations on the basics of necrotic energies, necromantic principles, and their applications here that I noted down.</p><p>Fennorian smiled and shook his head but didn’t argue.</p><p> </p><p>Finally, he brought up our earlier successes with warding, and now I’m an actual part of this. At least a bit. This is nice.</p><p> </p><p> </p><p> </p>
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<a name="section0036"><h2>36. And, just like that,</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>…all our preparations are for nothing.</p><p>We tried assorted things that I have no time to document, thought that could wait until later. Then Svana tried to introduce our solution attempt to her father, who then promptly revealed himself to be an ally of the Grey Host, oh and a vampire, even though several people in the room were vampires and it appears none of us sensed each other; the others are still none the wiser about Fennorian and me either. Are we and they perhaps so incompatible on a fundamental level now? Interesting but not the point now. The esteemed High King also confirmed that there is a massive Harrowstorm coming, but we knew this. But it’s going to be sooner than expected.</p><p>So our protection plan for the city would take too long, and so we just did some bare-bones measures, and Diesala is dealing with some tactical things aboveground and keeping the guards and such calmed down who were running around like headless chickens.</p><p>The rest of us are now going to Blackreach again, to try to stop the Harrowstorm from down there.</p><p>It’s both complicated and stupid.</p><p> </p><p>Fennorian and I briefly argued. He wanted to go stop it, as a member of House Ravenwatch, on his duty and so on. I wasn’t happy with that. Then I said, if he’s going, I’m going, too. He wasn’t happy with <em>that</em>.</p><p>I said I’m not letting him run off alone into danger again. And if he minds that, we’ll need a different solution for the future.</p><p>And then we decided to both go after all. To defend our new home, if nothing else.</p><p>And one more. Diesala warned us that the worst place to be was in a city under siege or under attack. You want to be absolutely anywhere but inside. Even Blackreach.</p><p>“What about you?” I asked.</p><p>“Portals,” she said. “But I hope I won’t need one; it’s a bad look if the Psijic leaves in their hour of need. We do that enough anyway.”</p><p>I looked at her with serious concern, and she smiled and said, “But I will if I need to. I’ve got orders from several parties to stay alive. And my adventuring days are over anyway.”</p><p> </p><p>So… Blackreach. Again.</p><p>Clavicus, protect us how you can. You don’t want your new vampire line to die out in the second generation; what would that look like?</p><p>And Lorkhan, you didn’t sound as if you wanted us to be dead immediately either. I’ll be taking you by your cryptic word.</p><p> </p><p> </p>
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<a name="section0037"><h2>37. About the fight for Solitude</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Well, assorted things happened. Let me take a few notes.</p><p>Blackreach. Got separated, Fennorian and I on our own in the middle of Greymoor Keep, the one Riacil had talked about. Good thing I’d learned all those spells from Diesala. Ice spikes extremely effective.</p><p>Chaos. High King turned one with Solitude by Rada al-Saran, the Keep itself a witch magic focus, back to the surface, Svana killed her father and solved the problem, us up against harrowfiends that were kept for the purpose…</p><p> </p><p>You know what?</p><p>I didn’t become a bard in order to deliver accurate battle reports.</p><p>If this goes into writing anywhere, it will be later, and brought into a much more entertaining format, with changes to make this fit for a general audience. Not this confusing nonsense.</p><p> </p><p>For now? We need Lothryn’s potion, cleaning up, also burning everything we’ve been wearing because it’s beyond salvaging, and sleep.</p><p>Art and the kingdom can both wait.</p><p> </p><p> </p><p> </p><p> </p>
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<a name="section0038"><h2>38. A few developments</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>We’re both still exhausted and groggy. But a few things anyway.</p><p> </p><p>Fennorian is going to help with warding materials and attempting a cure for the afflicted. I’ll help for the bit that I can.</p><p>The workforce in the city is depleted, and there are people missing for every task that needs doing. We’ll find a way to earn our living for now even after this project is done and the palace does not need us in employ anymore.</p><p> </p><p>The Bard College is still closed but will open again eventually, and I’ll return.</p><p> </p><p>Riacil and Diesala have said their goodbyes for now and returned to Artaeum. And we’ll get a visiting license as soon as they’ve convinced their Elders that they want a pair of vampires around. With these two doing the convincing, I’m sure this will be soon.</p><p> </p><p>Diesala has sent over lengthy instructions on how to brew Shimmerene Spicy Bitterlemon Tea. I have made the first terribly failed attempt. But Fennorian sat there by the window with a pensive expression for a long while, eventually turned to me, and said, “A childhood memory. There’s something else there, isn’t there? Not just the vampirism. Not all that came with it. And now I have you.” He waved me over, kissed my neck and whispered, “Thank you.”</p><p>So I’m trying again.</p><p> </p><p>Finally, for the mammoth in the room, our future with regard to House Ravenwatch.</p><p>I was sitting by the fire when Fennorian crouched in front of me, took my hands, and said, “We both want to leave, don’t we?”</p><p>I nodded.</p><p>He let out a sigh of relief, and I could see the burden fall off his shoulders at that moment. Then he straightened up and sat next to me by the fire. “Good. I’ll set up a letter to Verandis. Explain it all as best I can. If I judge him correctly, he’ll understand. If he doesn’t understand… Well, that doesn’t change anything. Easier said than done, isn’t it?”</p><p>“Oh yes,” I said, “with a mother like mine, I know.”</p><p>“I know,” he said, “I’ve met her after all. But you’re sure?”</p><p>“I’m sure. I want something completely different from our life.”</p><p>“Me, too,” he said. His lips twitched. “Strange. Now it’s easy to confess. I’ve spent a long time unable to. Anyway. About your mother. Can I ask you not to write yet? Let me handle this. Officially. Between head of the house and protégé. And then we’ll see what follows.”</p><p>And so we did it. He spent a long time agonising over a long letter, and finally sent it off over the usual channels.</p><p>Now we wait. And try to relax, but it’s not easy yet.</p><p> </p>
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<a name="section0039"><h2>39. We got two letters.</h2></a>
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    <p>One from Verandis Ravenwatch to Fennorian, and a bit to me.</p><p>One from my mother to me.</p><p> </p><p>We decided to read them together.</p><p>Fennorian looked to my mother’s letter. “Would you like to start there?”</p><p>I was tense and leaned against him. “No, let’s start with yours. I want to know the official part. The other can wait a moment.” I felt bad in advance for the hypothetical scenario that my mother had written a heartfelt letter unlike her that I’d really want to see. But still. I placed Count Verandis’s letter on top, and we read.</p><p> </p><hr/><p> </p><p>“Fennorian,</p><p> </p><p>In different times, this letter would have begun like this:</p><p>Your letter was a reminder of something we may all have forgotten, or that I may have forgotten to convey. And that is that House Ravenwatch is not a professional guild nor an army – not for kings and not for gods or Princes – but a family. And what family worth its name necessitates for its members to leave it just to pursue their own goals and start their own families?</p><p>This is what I would like to write. But we do not live in those times anymore.</p><p>The Grey Host is still on the loose and needs stopping. Rivenspire is barely habitable for mortals nor for our kind, and it is time to put an end to that condition, too. And in order to do our work, our family has become more open about what it is than it ever has been. The open secret has turned into an open fact.</p><p>I am at present in the process of recalling all the House Ravenwatch members that had been in Western Skyrim for the duration of this crisis, gathering them at home in Rivenspire for the next steps.</p><p>And so, as you have laid out in your letter, our goals quite simply do not align anymore. And it is time for the children to leave the fold. At least <em>that</em> grace this family can still bestow, lest we entirely lose sight of ourselves. We can let you go.</p><p> </p><p>In less ideal but still different times, I would have added the following:</p><p>Lady Melima has been a friend and staunch ally to us, and her children are always our friends and welcome in our halls.</p><p>But I’m afraid even that I cannot tell you. Times are changing, and the two of you are best off not coming back here in the foreseeable future. My own path is unclear, but clear enough to see this much. And our House is changing along with the times.</p><p>This may be the time to mention that our new member Liocie Ancel has been in contact with our master and has brought back decrees that, while aligning with all of our goals at the moment, do not match your own ideas of your lives and what kind of family you were both looking for.</p><p> </p><p>Despite all, know, both of you, that I wish you well in your upcoming marriage, and in the path that you will find for yourselves. And that I am proud of you for seeking it.</p><p> </p><p>Your friend,</p><p>Count Verandis of House Ravenwatch”</p><p> </p><hr/><p> </p><p>Fennorian’s hands were shaking, and I laid mine on top of them. He calmed down and nodded. “The other, then?”</p><p>And so we placed the other letter on top and read.</p><p> </p><hr/><p> </p><p>“Nanacie,</p><p> </p><p>I was not surprised by your betrothed’s letter and its contents. It was an unsurprising revelation that I tried to postpone as far as possible.</p><p>I would have preferred for you to seek different goals than the ones you ended up pursuing. For a while, I was fooled by the notion that since you had more time at your disposal than a mortal, that would also mean more time for you to eventually change your mind. But of course it did not happen, and I have only myself to blame for hoping.</p><p>If anything, I can at least commend the stubbornness with which you held onto your mediocre dreams. And in the end, you got the poetry and the husband, and you will be a poetry-writing housewife under a weak and vain and buffoonish Prince. It is time to accept that and to accept, at this juncture, that it is time for our ways to part.</p><p>We are vampires. There are those blood-ties and those. I must now focus on those created among our own kind, and for you to focus on whichever mortal limitations it pleases you to put on yourself. I could not do more than try, and this occasion marks the end of it.</p><p> </p><p>Let me tell you at this time that I have spoken once more to Molag Bal. I still have my ways, as I did back then.</p><p>Let me tell you also that you were never the point of his agreeing to my terms. This piece of news would sting someone else, but will probably fill you with relief instead. Molag Bal has no need for poets and housewives, nor, for that matter, for weak scholars like you have chosen for your mate. Neither of you is considered a loss.</p><p>Meanwhile, Rivenspire is a cesspit, our master’s wayward prisoners are turning one country after the other on its head, and this needs to end. Rivenspire and the state of the vampiric community under our master’s leadership need cleaning up. And he has seen fit to assign me to the task in a prominent position.</p><p>If you hear my name in the following years, hear it as that of an official doing my master’s work. And find your mortal idea of a family elsewhere.</p><p> </p><p>I still wish you the best outcome for your future that your vision will allow you.</p><p>Liocie Ancel of House Ravenwatch, Agent of Molag Bal”</p><p> </p><hr/><p> </p><p>I realised it was I who was shaking then.</p><p>Fennorian laid his arm around my waist, and when I moved closer, ran his hand up my side and then pulled me close to lean against his shoulder. I complied and felt somewhat warmer.</p><p>“How are you?” he asked. A grave and simple question.</p><p>I searched myself. “Relieved,” I said. “Numb, somewhat. Angry. Annoyed. Rejected. My pride is hurt. Relieved.”</p><p>His fingers played with my hair. “If I may say something.”</p><p>“Of course.”</p><p>“It’s possible that we got more or less the same letter. With… different wording and levels of diplomacy, of course.”</p><p>I nodded against him. “But the same purpose. Could be.”</p><p>His fingers combed through my hair. “Regrets?”</p><p>“No.”</p><p>“Good. Neither for me.”</p><p> </p><p>Eventually, I looked at the letters again, partly rolled together. I took the one from my mother, rolled it all the way up, didn’t know what to do with it then. Unrolled it again, let my eyes hit the words but not read them again. I rolled it back up.</p><p>“So,” I said, “do you think we’ll still need them at some point, as evidence for this or that or… I don’t even know.”</p><p>Fennorian took the other letter and rolled it up, as well. “We’re Cyrodilic vampires. Which means that, for all intents and purposes, for the rest of the world, we are no vampires at all. We’re simple civilians. A bard and an alchemist that will soon be married. There’s an alchemist in town whose apprentice has been harrowed. He needs a new one. I might apply. It’s a modest living, but it should be enough. And we’ve both had enough excitement for a while, haven’t we?”</p><p>“We have.”</p><p>“We could travel, too, once this has all settled, and we’ve recovered and saved up some gold. I could study new plants, you could find new things to write about. New forms or… Whatever interests you.”</p><p>“I’d like that,” I said.</p><p>“Then, us being essentially no vampires at all, the last thing we need is anything linking us to House Ravenwatch, rumoured to be vampires.”</p><p>“You’re right,” I said and placed the rolled-up letter in his hand.</p><p>Fennorian got up and dropped both letters into the fireplace.</p><p> </p>
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